


It's all memory in the sun.

by laura_sommeils



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: CA San Juan, Gen, M/M, Mentioned Iwaizumi Hajime, Pre-Relationship, argentoto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laura_sommeils/pseuds/laura_sommeils
Summary: Argentina during summer is almost a wistful memory of Japan. It’s in the way the sun hits Oikawa’s head when he is going home for lunch after morning practice, the cicadas as a bacground noise, while kids run down the street with packages of store-bought ice-cream that is probably already melting on their hands. The way they sprint with scrapped knees and wide grins and he is slightly tempted to do the same. How he can almost hear the familiar laughter that is embodied in the noon's heat, or recall the sticky fingers going through his hair after he refused to share the flavor he'd bought.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	It's all memory in the sun.

Argentina during summer is almost a wistful memory of Japan. It’s in the way the sun hits Oikawa’s head when he is going home for lunch after morning practice, the cicadas as a bacground noise, while kids run down the street with packages of store-bought ice-cream that is probably already melting on their hands. The way they sprint with scrapped knees and wide grins and he is slightly tempted to do the same. How he can almost hear the familiar laughter that is embodied in the noon's heat, or recall the sticky fingers going through his hair after he refused to share the flavor he'd bought.

There is the mixing of eggs with milk and, when it’s cooked, the gentle drip of the soy sauce that he was able to get at the supermarket. And the cleaning up after, while he listens to his friends’ voice messages and thinks of what he is going to reply, “No, he isn’t a regular yet, but soon, so they have to be ready to receive packages with his jersey and take photos of themselves wearing it, or else”.

There is the lull after lunch, the gentle cradle of the hammock in the patio of the apartment complex he’s staying at. The leaves of the wisteria trees offering him shade, and the name “glicina” floating his mind. He idly wonders about how many ways can something be called and not lose its essence in the naming.

There are the mountains and the blue sky, the laughter of his teammates when they come to pick him up for afternoon practice and then the inside jokes that have to be explained, the way they slowly pick upon his gestures and are ready to place themselves where he needs them to. Or where he takes them, which ends up being the same thing all at once.

There is diverse food, and different faces, but there is also the relentless hunger when he gives a toss just right, or when his teammates tease him because he should stop putting so much power on his serves when they’re doing practice games on their free time, you monster.

There are also photos of winter on his phone gallery, of gingko trees surrounded by fallen leaves, a scarf that used to be his warming his best friend’s neck, the fraying edges resting over his shoulders. The screenshot of an article about a certain kouhai of his signing up to a V1 team, white jersey and an awkward smile, but eyes glinting.

It is the snow pilling up at the entrance of his highschool, a text saying “I came back for a visit and I thought you’d want to see this, dumbass”. And lengthy explanations of the correct ways of achieving a “soft landing” and how muscles’ pressure points work and questions about his training program. References to videos he’s sent and commentary on matches he said he didn’t watch but both of them know that he did. 

The smile that appears on his face while he texts back and wonders about how many minutes until he has to prepare himself for the half fond half exasperated pronunciation of “Oikawa” at the other side of the line. He never thought he’d miss hearing his last name, or that his last name voiced by Iwaizumi would feel like the warmth that travels down your body and remains in your hands while you’re drinking green tea.

He never thought about a lot of things, because they were always present.

Japan during winter is a calling he can’t come back to, but it’s an anchor, at the same time.

He is thankful for both.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)  
> And the title is part of the lyrics of the song "Season of love" by Shiny Toy Guns because I hate choosing titles :)


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